hold me tight and rock me to sleep
by scribbles and such
Summary: because she was Dominique Afrodille Weasley, and she was nothing?


_**A/N: MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING. This story includes angst to the extreme, depression, and a very in-depth, graphic scene at the end, so please take this into account when reading this. I just want you all too know that I love you all so so so so much, whether this is the first story of mine that you've read or you've read them all. I love every single one of you to bits and pieces and if you ever need somebody to talk to that I'm here. PM me, please. I've been to hell and am still making my way back up. I know how you feel, really.**_

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><p>She was Dominique Afrodille Weasley, and she was nothing. They never <em>asked<em> for her. They wanted a son; they wanted Louis, and they got him, though they also got her. She was just something that came along with him, because they were fucking _twins._

It was rare for a boy to be born as a Veela, but they tried for one anyway, because of the Weasley genetics. They got one. Oh how happy they were when little Louis Jacques Weasley was born into this world, though boy were they confused when Fleur went into labor again and out popped her. The child of the unknown, the child that they didn't expect_; they didn't want._

She got tossed around the house. When she was a baby, she had colic so she slept in her mum and dad's room, then, when that ordeal was over she slept in the same room as Louis until they were eight and he spoke out about how _"boys and girls are separated at Hogwarts, so they have to be separated here too."_ So then she was shoved into the same room as Victoire the Great for two years until Victoire turned twelve and wanted her own room, so Dominique simply threw her stuff in a trunk and stuck herself in the attic on a cot.

Hogwarts was absolute shit. She stood out from all her cousins and family members. They were all sweet Hufflepuff's, or Daring Gryffindor's, but not _stupid _Ravenclaw's. Victoire and Louis were in Gryffindor, like her father had been, while her mother had gone to Beauxbatons in France so there was no point of even comparing herself to her.

Fleur and Victoire were both stunning, even Louis, but Dominique, oh Dominique, why there was nothing stunning about her. She didn't have any Veela charm. She didn't look like her mother or have Weasley red hair. She had dull strawberry blonde. She didn't inherit the stunning blue eyes her mother and sister shared, or the chocolate brown ones that her father and brother both had in common. Her eyes were green. _Green. _They weren't a pretty "_mystical"_ green either, they were putrid and hideous and she hated everything about them.

She didn't have the amazing grades like Victoire who has O's in fucking everything without even trying, she averaged an A, and that was just in her good classes that she devoted hours and hours to. Then there was Louis, captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team, while Dominique could barely use a broom without breaking _something_, whether it was an object or herself.

Hell, she couldn't even compare to any of her cousins, and they're all younger than her. James & Freddie with their witty jokes and their amazing ability to just _make _friends everywhere they went. Albus and Rose with their amazing mindset's and how they were already destined to be something in life, like their parents and how they were actually worthy of their Ravenclaw house status. Roxanne and how she could simply pick up a pencil or a paintbrush or any material you could think of and create an explosion of beauty and creativity. Hugo and Lucy who were just natural sweethearts and how they could win over the world with their Hufflepuff qualities. Molly and how she was only a fourth year and she had boys wrapped around her finger. And lastly, Little Lily, the only Slytherin in the family, who had befriended none other than Scorpius Malfoy and was destined to be the biggest rebel the Weasley and Potter bloodlines had ever seen.

Then there was Teddy Lupin. Teddy _fucking _Lupin. The one who she'd slept with in closets and the one who'd told her she was beautiful; who'd told her the he loved her, and then left her for her sister. But it's not like she loved him or anything. Right? Right. Teddy and Victoire sounded a lot better anyway. She didn't love anybody and nobody loved her back. Nobody got hurt in this mutual agreement.

Nonetheless, she still went to family gatherings and listened to conversations at the dinner table. She listened to how people praised Victoire and Teddy like they were gods; to people praise Louis about his quidditch skills and how he was _destined _to get a spot on any quidditch team he could dream of; to people praise Roxanne's art, Rose's wits, Albus' grades, everybody but her.

So she made the, _oh so stupid _decision to take apart one of the razors she used to shave and drag the small razorblade across her wrist. Her nerves made an even stupider decision to decide that it felt _good, _heavenly even. And it just went from there. It wasn't a problem; she was the problem, she was the one who started this, and she'd be the one to end it as well. End it.

All her aunts and uncles resent her, I mean, who wouldn't resent a "_dangerous teenage girl"_ who shoved Little Lily into a coffee table on Christmas because she asked her a question. _Why are those marks on your arms? _They're on her fucking arms because ignorant people, like "Little Lily", ask why they're there. They're on her fucking arms because goddamn it! She just wanted to feel again; she's so fucking numb that she needs to slice open her body with a razorblade to feel again.

Then she sort of just, blanked out, and the next thing she knew "Little Lily" was wheezing and coughing because she was thrown into a cherry wood coffee table while Dominique ran out the front door red with anger. Running through the countryside away from the Burrow wasn't the best idea though, because by then her clothes were soaked through and her fingers were numb. Plus her lungs burned and her head pounded from lack of oxygen. She really _was_ a stupid Ravenclaw.

Why not make another bad decision, to keep the list going. Illegally apparate back to your house so your aunts and uncles don't beat the shit out of you with words at age sixteen. Check! Maybe if she got lucky she'd splinch herself and wouldn't have to deal with the actual killing herself. She could just bleed out soundlessly, and nobody would be there to do anything about it. _Pop!_

Nope. So much for splinching herself, turns out those apparition lessons _do _do something. Lucky her that she actually _did _end up in the bathroom. So she dug, and dug and dug and dug and dug, until she found it. Just what she wanted, no, just what she _needed_. It was a muggle pill bottle with a label that read "_Aspirin" _and behind it, none other than a thin piece of metal that did miracles. Or, at least, it did miracles for her.

She took the blade and cut into her arm. Over and over again, though each time the lacerations got deeper and wider, and she chose a new area of her body. Her form dripped with blood and speckles, more like puddles, of the vital fluid sat on the ground, stilled.

The bottle made a ticking noise when she simply twisted, so she pressed down harder and harder while still wringing it. Off came the top and she poured the small pink sphere-like pills into her hand. Five? Ten? _Twenty?_ Why play it safe when you're purposefully trying to overdose. So one by one she assimilated the small tablets with no liquid to wash them down. She took her pills dry, like her personality.

With the twist of a knob the bathtub was running and suddenly she was in it, woozy and unaware of what was really going on. Her head was spinning and her body cramping while convulsing rapidly. She was overwhelmed by nausea while the burning hot water turned a sickly red color. Her green eyes were hazy and reality was quickly fading.

Her parents, the, _oh so perfect _ones, hollered up the stairs while Victoire screeched and Louis yelled at the top of his lungs. Water seeped through the crack under the bathroom door and like lighting there was a hoard of feet swarming toward it like bees. They were yelling. They were pounding at the door. They were _crying. _For Dominique, no, never for _Dominique. _The door was bust down and there was a chorus of gasps and choking. The last thing she remembered was the sound of her mothers' body collapsing on the floor. Because she was Dominique Afrodille Weasley, and she was nothing?


End file.
